


i’m watching you fade (begging you, please, don’t go away)

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Fix, Exorcism, F/F, Fix-It, Let Dani and Jamie live, The Beast In the Jungle Rewrite, ghostly possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: It’s been magic, a faerie tale, but one undoubtedly penned by the brothers Grimm. Because Jamie’s seen the signs.The way the light in Dani’s mismatched eyes wanes, flickers, and dims. They’ve started to gloss over to gray. Her skin is turning translucent, revealing ghostly veins.Jamie’s watched enough flowers die to know what’s happening.But Dani’s the only truly good thing she’s ever held (besides her plants). She’s not willing to let their forever arrive at its coda so quickly, not if she can help it.
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139





	i’m watching you fade (begging you, please, don’t go away)

**Author's Note:**

> Used bits of the exorcism scenes from Stranger Things 2 and My Best Friend’s Exorcism as guides for my writing here. Title ripped from "ghost" by MisterWives.

They've gotten nearly ten years together. Three thousand, five hundred, and seventy nine days.

Yes, she's counted every last one, and she can't quite believe it, herself, that living with another person for that long could be so damn wonderful. So rewarding. That she'd look forward to having someone else in her space nearly all the time. Even on the bad days, when shop numbers are down or when one of them thinks too long and too hard about Viola, about the ticking time bomb. Because at least Dani is _there_ , with her, and they're together. In their kitchen, making slightly more passable cups of coffee and the occasional omelets in the morning. In their bed, tangling their feet up while they read. In their shop, caring for customers with such genuine delight that one would never venture to guess at their latent, shared trauma, though Dani's undeniably bore the brunt of it.

It's been magic, a faerie tale, but one undoubtedly penned by the brothers Grimm. Because Jamie's seen the signs, the way the light in Dani's mismatched eyes wanes, flickers, and dims. They've started to gloss over to gray. Her skin is turning translucent, revealing ghostly veins.

Jamie's watched enough flowers die to know what's happening.

But Dani's the only truly good thing she's ever held (besides her plants). She's not willing to let their forever arrive at its coda so quickly, not if she can help it.

And she can't help it, this need for consumption. She wants more, like always.

Greed is baked into Jamie's bones, stitched into her ribcage, in the way she swills an extra glass or two of Apothic Red on Saturday nights after dinner, in how she'd continually helped herself to Owen's buttery shortbread cookies back then, in what she calls the "during Bly" time, in how she tenderly makes love to Dani or fucks her senseless, depending on their moods.

And she can't quite reconcile the idea that she can't save her love, can't snatch up more time for them to share.

So she goes to the library. Dani, being a former teacher, had insisted at least one of them should get a library card once they'd settled in Vermont. Jamie's not sure what hurts more, the fact that all of Dani's day-to-day items—her license, her jean jacket, her endless collection of hair scrunchies—seem doomed to become personal effects within the next month or so, or the fact that she's hellbent on collecting as few of those as possible.

 _"I need more than memories to remember her by,"_ Jamie thinks sadly as she approaches the front desk, manned by a tall, gangly guy with a name tag that says "Chip." He reminds her a bit of a much younger Owen, almost too courteous, but with a friendly face.

She wills a small smile to spread across her mouth. "Hi. Er, I'm working on a ghost story, and I'm curious if you have any sort of books on getting rid of 'em? Anything supernatural-like, really. I wanna make sure my plot is realistic."

To her surprise, he grins back. "We've got a few books. Not a ton, mind, but it's better than nothing. And you're just in time, since it's almost Halloween."

"Oh. Oh, yeah," she realizes; outside of the shop, she and Dani don't track specific dates so much as seasons. There's not really a need for calendars when tomorrow's the only day that matters.

"So, are you writing about a run of the mill ghost?" Chip asks.

Jamie barks out a laugh. "No. Not in the slightest. This one was wronged, wronged badly, and she hasn't been able to rest. She haunts her old English manor. Or did, rather. She's stateside now."

He frowns. "You might be looking more for exorcisms, then. Some ghosts just need assistance in being released, but others are more likely to cling to their space, or to a person, if they've attached to a host. Where would you say this one fits?"

"She's a clinger. Definitely a clinger."

After chatting for a few more minutes with Chip, she ends up checking out a few books to take home. Some of it's bound to be bullshit, but...she shrugs.

" _If someone told me that my wife would absorb the soul of an angry, faceless ghost into her body to save a little girl from drowning and then live with her spirit for almost ten years, I woulda called bullshit on that, too,"_ Jamie reasons.

She studies one of them, titled _Demystifying the Demonic,_ after dinner during Jeopardy.

Dani nudges her with her shoulder. "Whatcha got there?"

"It's, ah, some research," she answers, trying to casually close the book.

She's always been pretty shite at keeping her cool around Dani, and all their time together has reduced her odds of successfully hiding things to about nil.

"That doesn't look like a book on plants," Dani comments, the suspicion in her voice matching the furrow in her eyebrows. "And it must be pretty captivating to keep you from answering any of the clues in today's botany category."

The only downside of having a brilliant wife is that it's nearly impossible to sneak anything past her.

Jamie fesses up. "It's not about plants. It's about exorcisms."

Dani's still staring at her, so she adds, as a rationalization, "If you can invite a spirit in, you oughta be able to kick it out, surely."

She realizes, now, how absurd that concept sounds on face value.

"And were you going to _tell_ me about this idea at some point?"

"Of course," Jamie answers, willing the flashes of red to stay behind her eyes, confined to the edges of her vision, but she can feel herself going on the defensive. "I on'y got the books today, I've barely read through them yet—"

"Viola's not some ghost, you know that, she's solid flesh and—and...I don't know what this would change," Dani snipes.

Jamie's exasperation finally boils over, like the many tea kettles her beloved has never learned to properly watch. "Excuse me for wanting to save your fuckin life, Dani!"

Her frustration's not at Dani, but at their situation, at how they're being robbed of a true marriage by some bitter wannabe royal from the damn 17th century. Like, it's been over _300 years_ , mate. Let bygones be bygones.

"I'm sorry," Jamie murmurs after a second; she's never able to stand it when she puts Dani in any sort of discomfort. "I—I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"I'm sorry, too," Dani sighs. "It's just...I've been seeing her more and more lately. In almost every reflection. And you know how it gets to me."

Jamie nods, tugs Dani closer to her. "Yeah. I've got you, though, Poppins. And I'm sorry I didn't think to tell you about this whole thing. It was a bit spur o' the moment, really. And…" she pauses, because it feels like this will come out wrong no matter how she phrases it. "If...if you don't want to try this, I totally understand. I'll be here every day with you, until that one day arrives."

Dani brushes her cheek with her lips. "Thanks, love. Maybe you can tell me more about what you've learned tomorrow and I'll take it into consideration?"

"Definitely."

She's usually a voracious reader, but she can only absorb so much of a surprisingly academic tome before she eventually calls it a night, with notes about "conversing with the spirit" and "drawing the ghost out with its inverse" (whatever the damn fuck that means) swimming in her head.

**

"Jamie?"

Dani's voice warbles out of her pretty little mouth, in a manner she's not used to hearing in the wee hours of the morning. It's often sharp, insistent, when Viola violates her dreams or her sleep.

And why does it sound like she's perched above her, rather than next to her?

She blinks the heavy sleep out of her eyes, and Dani's hovering over her, with wild, feral fear inscribed in her gaze.

"She was here," she whimpers. "And I—I was her. I nearly—"

Jamie follows her line of sight down her arm to her hand, which is poised to seize her around the neck.

" _Well,_ _that's_ _not how I want Poppins to choke me."_

The gallows humor has preserved her sanity on more than one occasion, and she desperately needs to maintain it now, since Dani's shrinking back, receding away from her.

She offers her best soothing voice, though it's not all that comforting at this hour. "But you didn't," she reminds her. "You bested her."

Dani bites her lip. "I don't know if I can again. If I can stop her. I should—" she glances out the window, and the thought of Dani leaving, fleeing, punctures Jamie's lungs like an ice pick.

"No. No, you're not—"

A flash of resolve, a tinge of anger, burns bright in Dani's eyes as she interrupts. "I'm not letting her hurt you. You said earlier you just wanted to save my life, right? That goes both ways. Even if I…" she can't finish the sentence, thank God, but scowls, nevertheless. Her jaw sets and Jamie will never tire of this, of admiring her bravery, her courage. "Jamie?"

There's a knife's edge to her voice now and she wants to sharpen it. "Yeah, Dani?"

She swallows thickly and presses on. "I know it's late—or early—but would you be up for trying to, um, perform an exorcism?"

She sets her mouth in a grim line and nods. "Gimme a few minutes to do some reading and get some water to wake up a little, but." Despite everything, she manages a cheeky grin. They've been on a madcap of an adventure so far; no reason to settle for a plain, boring old life now. "No time like the fuckin present, then, is there?"

**

"Thank Christ we have all these blankets. And that you're smart as a whip," Jamie grunts as she tosses their final couple of spare quilts on the bed, completing the transformation of their room into a sauna; they've cranked the heat up to a very toasty 80. "Mightn't have figured out that whole inverse bit otherwise."

Dani shrugs and quietly preens. "The opposite of a freezing cold lake would be heat. Thank my training as an English teacher, I guess."

"And you're sure you're okay with this? Even the whole…?" She holds up scarves she's planning to use to tie up Dani's wrists. Between their knowledge of Viola's history and from quickly skimming one of the books Jamie had brought home, they're expecting the lady to put up some resistance.

Dani swallows hard and nods. "I know you're not doing it to hurt me, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt you."

Jamie moves forward slowly, then hesitates. "You know, if it's too much, or if you want to stop—we should have a safe word or something."

Dani mulls over a few ideas. "How about…actually, no, I don't want to say it out loud. Can we write it together? Just in case Viola's listening."

"Sure, darlin." Dani sets the pattern and Jamie follows it, slowly, with Dani's hand closed over hers, her slim fingers guiding a messy batch of cursive.

"Haven't written like this since primary school," Jamie chuckles.

Dani smiles softly at her. "Being a teacher...I just always wrote like this as an example for the kids and never stopped."

Jamie considers the word she's transcribed _(Coffee)_ and grins up at Dani, at her reference to the first inkling that they had something. "Poppins. You flirt."

They can almost forget what they're about to try, bundled within the soft warmth of the moment, but that'll just set them back to the cycle of waking and walking, and they want off this path.

"You ready?" Jamie asks.

She pulls in a deep breath and releases it, her jaw set firmly. "Yep."

"You're so brave, Dani. Courage of a lion, you've got," Jamie whispers as she ties her up as tenderly as possible.

"Wouldn't have it without you. And Jamie...in case this doesn't work—"

"Nope. Not having any of that talk now," Jamie murmurs; she's stubbornly nursed dead plants back to life through sheer willpower alone, she's pretty sure, and much as she loves them, she loves Dani with considerably more force. So she shuts her up with a kiss, and Dani breathes out on their shared exhale, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Jamie whispers, and despite her previous attempt at optimism, she still doubts this scheme will turn out how they want.

" _At the very least, you'll never wonder if you could've done anything more for her,"_ she tells herself for a small comfort as she consults _Demystifying the Demonic_ after lighting a candle—on her half of the room, on her nightstand, for obvious reasons; she's pretty sure Viola would happily commit arson to avoid getting purged from Dani's body.

"Can you reach out to her?" Jamie asks, then, figuring she might as well do the thing proper, clarifies, "I mean, er, make contact?"

"Get me a mirror?" Dani asks back, as if she's just doing her makeup before they go out for a dinner date and not trying to converse with a ghost who'd like nothing more than to murder them both.

"Yep." She grabs her small, compact one out the drawer of her nightstand, holds it up for Dani's gaze. "That alright?"

"A little closer." She leans in, her eyes widen in recognition, and she breathes out, "Okay," just before her face freezes, then slackens, accentuating the graying, paper-thin qualities of her skin.

It takes a lot to frighten Jamie, but _watching_ Dani transition into this distinctly not-Dani puppet, this grotesque distortion of herself, will forever scare the shit out of her.

" _I've pulled her back plenty of times. I'll do it again. I have to,"_ she thinks wildly, but some dumbass part of her brain whispers, _"You've never gone looking for Viola before, though, have you?"_

Dani's head stops lolling and she fixes Jamie with a milky-eyed gaze. "Here. Present. All you have." If her voice had more of Viola's accent she'd find this easier, almost, in a way, to negotiate, but there's just enough of Dani in it to swipe at her emotions.

"No thanks to you," she scowls, then quickly adds, "But that's our lot, then."

Viola seems to appreciate the concession. Responds, "She chose me. This. You. Us."

She wants to bite back that there is no us, that the only us is herself and Dani, but, well...shit, her soul's spent ten years cocooned next to Dani's, so it's kind of fair to say that.

" _Don't think flattery will get me anywhere,"_ Jamie guesses. _"Let's try begrudging respect."_

"Yes," she agrees. "Yes. Dani chose all of this. Dani chose us. Accepted us. And I'm not going to claim you owe her. But I'd say it's fair that you at least listen, yeah?"

She sees a flicker of consideration on not-Dani's face, then...confusion. Surprise.

Dani comes to with a shuddering gasp, like she does whenever the shower runs a touch too cold for her liking, and her dimmed eyes are regaining their usual brightness.

Jamie wraps her arms around her. "You alright?" she asks, then frowns—stupid question—and casts it aside in favor of, "Where'd you go?"

"I didn't. I didn't go anywhere. I wasn't here, but I wasn't tucked away, either," she blabbers.

Jamie's frown deepens, her face mirroring Viola's own consternation. "Wait. What? How's that work?"

"It was like limbo. Like I was underwater, but not how it usually is, at the lake," Dani explains quickly. "Just—just at a remove. I know Viola was on the surface, but I could still hear everything…like she wants me to..." Dani's eyes flutter shut, and she gets out, "Wan' me to be here," in a slurred blur before her face droops again.

Jamie inclines her head sharply. "Viola. Welcome back."

There's a brittleness to Viola and Dani's voice now, an exasperation to the admission of her basest desire. "Want to take. Take her. Home."

"Here's the rub, mate. She _is_ home. You're not," Jamie observes as neutrally as possible; irritation is undoubtedly coded into whatever's left of Viola's DNA, so pissing her off any further seems ill-advised, even for someone who's a natural-born shit-talker. "So, I think we can solve this pretty easily, if you'll take your leave."

"Not going back. Not without...family."

The three syllables come out choppy, as if they haven't been combined to form that word in centuries.

"And here we are again." Jamie's patience and generosity of spirit are growing thin. Not what she needs right now. She grits her teeth against her urge to verbally flay Viola. "We know about your family. And your sister, frankly, was a right bitch. You don't wanna call her family anymore, fine, I get that. Blood isn't everything. Believe me, I know."

Dani's face clouds over even more than it normally does when Viola's in charge, and Jamie takes a second to breathe. To remind herself to tread carefully. Because she's basically gambling for Dani's life with her words.

Viola's getting ready for a rebuttal. She's not offering one. At least, not yet, not on her own.

"You and Dani _do_ have a bond. A deep connection," she acknowledges. "And…" she remembers Dani's comment about being underwater and takes a calculated risk. "And I don't want to put words in her mouth, so can you let up a touch and all three of us can talk about this?"

Dani breaks through the surface again, and, after recovering, comments in amazement, "You _know._ It can't just be you or me or even the two of us doing this, it has to be all of us. For all our sakes." She gasps at what seems like a chill blazing through her chest, based on the goosebumps, then directs her voice inward. "You really think I don't know you after ten years?" Her voice is almost maternally scolding with, Jamie recognizes, a hint of nearly fond intimacy. "Let me...let us do this for you. You can _rest_ , Viola."

" _She's a better woman than I could ever be,"_ Jamie marvels despite the gravity of the situation, but then Dani's fighting to maintain control, and it pulls her back to the here and now.

Dani pants, "I think we can release her. All three of us. It feels like she might want out, herself. Just—just keep me here, love. Keep me awake. Tell me a story."

Jamie rolls off her and flops back onto her side, still squeezing the life out of her hand, nodding insistently—between the heat and all the blankets and the absolute _state_ of Dani's hair, this feels more like a delivery than an exorcism, and her brain's at least half-fried, but she can do this.

She whispers, as she cradles Dani as close as she can, "I still remember the first time I was well and truly impressed with you, Poppins. When you had the kids gardening, when you had Miles performin all the chores 'round the manor. You weren't doing it mean-like, or to be rude, just to teach him a lesson, teach him responsibility. Seeing you had that backbone to your spirit…" Despite everything, she shakes her head and nearly snorts. "I asked Owen if he thought you were pretty. I was trying not to admit my l'il crush to myself, but that clearly didn't work out as I'd planned, now, did it?"

Jamie's still keeping her fingers pressed to her neck, with her palm cupping her chin, when Dani starts talking to Viola again. "You don't have to be the Lady of the Lake anymore, Viola. No one does. And I know you once ruled Bly Manor, but it's come to rule you, to ruin you. And you don't deserve that."

They wait a second, letting her absorb the commentary, when Dani gestures at Jamie to jump in.

"Viola." She wills herself to keep the vitriol out of her voice, as much as possible. "I—I'd be angry, if I were you, definitely. And going about cracking skulls and necks, well, you think I hadn't ever wanted to do that to Peter Quint meself?"

She blows out a breathy laugh, and Dani nods her encouragement, so she carries on. "But—there's nothing for you at Bly. Nothing to bother haunting. You—you weren't ready to go before, and I understand. The—" she glances at Dani. "Not wanting to let go. But you can finally see Isabel, now, if you do. She'd want that, too, right?" Jamie suggests. "To be reunited with her truest family member, the one who stayed the most devoted to her?"

Dani whispers, in a shaking, trembling breath, "I know that I'm—that we're—being selfish, in making this request of you, but I know you can't be happy like this, either. Please, Viola. _Please_ leave. Find your peace."

Her soft command comes out tender and fierce all at once. Not at all angry, but understanding, somehow; it's almost steeped in pity, in commiseration, and maybe that makes all the difference.

Dani's head snaps up so fast that Jamie nearly screams, wondering if Viola somehow broke her neck from the inside out of sheer spite, but then she chokes out a rattling, sickly cough, releasing what looks like a plume of white and gray smoke that threatens to suffocate the air above them. Jamie's frozen for a second, unsure of what to do next—can you vacuum a restless spirit up with a Hoover? It's no good staying here, obviously. So she leaps out of bed and loosens Dani's restraints so she can slip free of them, then sprints over to the little bedroom window, wrenches it open, and prays.

The cloud tumbles toward the opening, then stops by it for a second. Jamie will swear, until the day she dies, that she hears a whispered, _"I will go, now. Thank you,"_ from what remains, she assumes, of Viola's spirit. Perhaps she's fleeing back to Bly, her broken home, maybe somewhere else, maybe to reunite, at long last, with her daughter. But Jamie's not quite relieved, not even when she slams the window shut, not when she hears Dani retching into the bucket she'd put on the floor next to her spot in their bed. She can't tell who's won, who's purging who, if she's saved Dani or if she's accidentally released her soul and sentenced her body to a living hell, possessed by the reserves of Viola's more vengeful side in perpetuity.

"Can...can you go throw that out? It smells like...like the lake," Dani murmurs dazedly as she wipes the sick off her mouth with the back of her hand, her skin chalk-white. Jamie watches her closed eyes roll back in her head just before she collapses backward, her head lolling against her pillows.

"Course, love," Jamie assures her, grabbing up the bucket like it's nothing, like she's just doing a spot of regular cleaning and not cleaning up the aftereffects of ten years' worth of ghostly cohabitation. She abandons any pretense of normalcy as soon as she leaves, hustling down the stairs and putting the bin out for rubbish collection before busting it back for the house, for their bedroom, and she only stops to massage the stitch in her side when she sees Dani still resting. She checks, just to be sure, holding a mirror up to her mouth, and her heart settles somewhere entirely too close to her throat until she sees it fog up.

"How d'you feel?" The question has the forced nicety of a nurse speaking with a patient in a terminal care hospital wing.

"Like I got hit by a bus," Dani croaks. "I'm not sure if Viola's totally gone, though. I think so, but 's hard to tell."

She doesn't sit up, but she finally opens her eyes, and Jamie's heart stops. She blinks her own eyes furiously to make sure she's not hallucinating a long-desired delusion into existence.

She's not.

She laughs. No, check that, she guffaws, letting out a loud, proud belly laugh that makes her sound as if she's tipping into insanity.

Dani struggles a bit beneath the blankets and props herself up on her elbows. "What is it?" Her voice grows more alert, gains a touch of alarm at the extended silence. "Jamie, what's going on?"

Of all the times for her quick mouth to fall fuckin quiet.

"It's—it's…" she shakes her head and snatches up the mirror again before settling in next to Dani, her head nestled on her shoulder. She wants them to share this moment like they've shared so many others together. " _Look."_

She grips the mirror tightly with her shaking hands—as if they need seven more years' bad luck—and puts it in front of her wife's face.

Dani claps a hand to her mouth, reaches a trembling finger out to get Jamie to bring the mirror closer to her face. She turns her head ever so slightly to the left and then to the right, as if convinced that what she's seeing is merely a trick of the light, another bit of Viola's cruelty.

It's not.

Twin sapphire eyes stare back at the two of them.

She collapses into Jamie's arms, and it's hard to classify their tears—happy, spent, relieved, joyful, who knows. They run the gamut of emotions.

"I didn't think—" Dani whispers, her voice wrecked as she winds her arms around Jamie, "I didn't think we could ever have—"

Neither one of them wants to say it, lest they jinx it, but Jamie knows her meaning, and she's got just enough spare charm and functioning brain cells to ask, "Can I keep keeping you company, then, Dani?"

It's not exactly a proposal, but it might as well be, as Dani nods into the question, and her answer of "Yes, yes, _yes_ ," is the most beautiful broken cry Jamie's ever heard, and then Dani's kissing her and she's kissing back, soft lips and soft hands cupped to faces and hard, blazing passion crashing together all at once.

With Viola inside her, they've treated each other like porcelain, at times, not wanting their intimacy to spark anything problematic.

But now?

After a damn decade of staying the tiniest bit upright at all times, out of fear, paranoia, friendship, love, and companionship—the north stars of their bond, those latter three elements—they finally, finally let themselves fucking _melt_ into each other.

Dani unchains her desire, gives herself permission to _devour,_ and Jamie lets her, lets her, lets her.

"This is me," she moans as she rocks in Jamie's lap, teasing her expertly, gliding back and forth between sitting up to straddle her and sinking low to kiss her with the ease of a rolling tide. "I'm all myself again, Jamie. I'm all yours."

Between Dani's sweet declaration and their beautifully hellish abandonment of caution, Jamie shatters.

"Sorry," she chokes out through a half-sob; she's not the type to cry in bed, but these are extenuating circumstances. "Shite, I just...it's like I'm really realizing what's happened, you know?"

Dani nods slowly, deliberately, stroking Jamie's hair like she's the one who just came out the other side of an exorcism, and Jamie tips her out of her lap, deposits her onto her side with a laugh and a kiss and one of the first deep, easy breaths she's drawn in years.

They laugh again, giddy on relief and the contact high of unchecked touches—her hands skimming along the sides of Dani's breasts, down to her waist, Dani's nails trailing gently down her spine, her fingers tiptoeing up the back of Dani's neck to tangle in her blonde tresses as they come together easily (it always reminds Jamie of their first kiss back in the greenhouse, and if she ever had to tuck herself away in a memory, she might just pick that one).

They fall asleep and split a cat nap together, and they're still bone tired when they wake up, around 2:30 in the morning. But the exhaustion has shifted to a sort of quiet exhilaration, a celebration of this delineation, this demarcation of time. It's all technically been "post-Bly," but not really, not in anything but their locations. They'd forgotten, once in a while, in stolen pockets and swatches of time, but then they'd remember, and they'd wake, and they'd walk.

But "now"—the ever-ticking, perpetually resetting present, the only measurement of time they've cared about—unspools itself as if it, too, can relax without the weight of Viola's burden.

Jamie wants to kiss Dani stupid, and in the past, up til about half an hour ago, she would have, with heartbreaking desperation, with soul-crushing urgency, because who would know if she'd ever get the chance again?

Without Viola's spectre, though, options unfurl before them, and she can practically _see_ all the different paths, just for this one event. They could have sex and then go back to sleep, or sleep and have morning sex, or sleep and have shower sex (they are absolutely _not_ opening the shop on time tomorrow, or today, rather) or...

She sees Dani's recognition of it, too, the way the universe has seemingly unthreaded itself for them, in the blooming color in her cheeks and the slightly disbelieving, stunned smile, and she whispers, "I don't want you to think I ever took a day, an hour, or a minute with you for granted, Poppins, but…"

They catch each other's hands, nodding in silent agreement again because they still don't want to say anything that might shatter this bubble, that might rob them of time they never thought they'd share together.

Jamie has so much she wants to articulate without breaking the spell, but she can't quite find the words.

Dani does.

"We're each other's. In all ways. _Always_ ," Dani whispers fervently as she leans forward, pressing their foreheads together.

She buries her face in Dani's neck upon hearing that last word. Ever since that fateful day, when she offered Dani her company—really, it was her heart, her soul, her life, when you get down to it—on her wait for the beast in the jungle, she's considered the idea of "always" with dread, because its span for her would far outstrip Dani's.

Sure, the realist in her warns that it could still happen. But it's far less of a certainty. And, at the very least, there is no way in bloody fucking hell that her Dani will spend eternity sunk at the bottom of that rotten lake at Bly. She'll cast herself into its wretched depths before she lets that happen.

So she murmurs back, against her love's lips, "We're each other's. In all ways. _Always_."

The phrase—the three sentences, delivered in a familiar cadence—feels like a cleaner, more well-lit version of "It's you. It's me. It's us." It's a message not of ownership, of possession, but of gifting, sharing, giving. It's not tucking someone away in the past, chaining them to an unyielding, unchanging memory, but an unlocking of the future, of possibilities they've been too pragmatic to ever consider.

Dani hears the reverence her wife gives to "always" and starts kissing her more aggressively for it, stares her down while biting her lower lip.

"You sure you're alright?" Jamie asks, thinking it's the right thing to do, post-exorcism. "You're not feeling peaky or anything?"

"I'm better than I've been in a long, long time, darling. And I have strength enough for this." Her wicked, devilish grin is all her own, with no hint of Viola's presence lurking just beneath it.

As Jamie comes undone, moaning hotly into Dani's kiss, writhing and bucking against her fingers, she resists her usual urge to throw her head back in ecstasy. She keeps her eyes open, bearing witness to the near-religious adoration etched on Dani's face, re-committing to memory the sight of eyes that, once again, are beautifully blue, blue, blue.

And when she goes down on Dani, when the only words dropping from the curved cliffs of Dani's lips are obscenities and her name, Jamie gazes up at her.

All she sees, all she ever wants to see, for the rest of her days, is blessed blue, blue, blue.

**

Even afterwards, they take things one day at a time. What with making an intentional effort at it for the last ten years and change, the habit's more or less ingrained into them.

Truthfully, Jamie hardly minds, because she'd have to be a sodding moron to _not_ appreciate that she gets to enjoy the company of one Dani Clayton every single day.

She discovers a new lightness in her bones now that their lives aren't gripped by the existential dread of Viola's semi-invisible presence. Mundane treats—an unexpected dance in their living room here, a lazy Sunday morning spent reading in bed before they grab breakfast at a quaint little cafe there—no longer feel like reprieves from an inherently broken future. They're just...part of life.

They never exactly _joke_ about Viola, of course, but there are times, Jamie knows, when the gift of her absence reminds them that things could be worse—the absolute worst, really: physically dead Dani and emotionally, spiritually dead Jamie—and to not take life so damned seriously.

Like when they're making dinner one Thursday night. Or "making dinner," rather; they've both improved their skills a great deal over the years, but they're still lost causes, once in a while. Jamie absentmindedly puts sugar rather than salt in their tomato soup while she's considering what seedlings to order before the end of the month, and Dani burns their grilled cheeses to a crisp because she's thumbing her way through a book while they cook.

"Seriously, Dani?" Jamie groans, grimacing at the blackened pieces of bread, and Dani purses her lips, gestures back at the soup bowls, and answers, with a reciprocal scowl, "Seriously, Jamie?"

They're on the verge of having a row when they just _look_ at each other and say, with a small, matching lift of their eyebrows, _"Dinner being fucked is still better than being possessed by an ancient, spiteful Victorian lady, yeah?"_

They burst out laughing at the unspoken break in tension and wrap each other up in a hug before Dani murmurs affectionately, "We've got more cheese and bread. I'll watch the sandwiches more carefully this time, promise." Jamie finally gets round to adding actual labels to their salt and sugar bowls (she tastes them first to be sure) before putting tape across the tops, with the playfully scrawled note of "Pay attention, idiot," for herself, and rummages in their cupboards for a fresh can of soup.

And she's not the only one feeling better, either.

Because Dani?

Dani _glows_ now. After decades of dealing with spectres—Eddie, Bly, Viola—she's thoroughly earned her peace, in Jamie's entirely biased opinion. It's more than just that freedom, though—she's finally resumed teaching, what with the whole "pedicidal ghost" issue being cleared up. Or, not teaching, but tutoring, in after-school sessions and at libraries, part-time. Jamie can listen to her love talk about anything, but seeing the pride on her face when she describes the joy of helping one of her students unlock the secrets behind a tricky maths problem, or work out the best way to rearrange a paragraph so it's nice and orderly—it might be when Dani's at her most beautiful.

" _Really, it's just kind of an ongoing one-up at this point,"_ Jamie thinks fondly one Saturday while they're both tending the shop. She's not sure if she'll ever get enough of Dani, but the slight change in their schedules works. She appreciates the occasional time to herself, to have the full run of the place.

At least, until one of them breaks and snares the other close for a quick kiss. Like she does now. They pull apart a few seconds before the bell chimes, having gotten something of a sixth sense for danger, especially when some of their older, more prying regulars come around.

Dani peeks her head out from behind a fern and trills, "Hi!"

" _Smart, Poppins, hiding that blush."_ Jamie shoots her the tiniest smirk—she loves their nonverbal communication nearly as much as she loves their conversations—before turning her attention to their newest customer. A woman somewhat close to their age, actually, with blonde hair, but it's more of a dirty, honeyed color than Dani's. Maybe five years or so younger, she guesses, as she offers her a nod and a warm, "Lo, there. What can we do for you…?"

The woman gives a little start, then extends her hand out. "I'm Kate. Sorry. There's just...well, this might sound dumb, but there's so many plants here. I've heard good things about this shop from one of my friends, but I've never been."

Jamie swells with pride as she gives her a firm handshake. "Glad you've stopped by, then. By the way, I'm Jamie, I do most of the planting and gardening and whatnot and that," she tilts her chin up toward her favorite person, "is my business partner, Dani."

They'd agreed on that term for safety and discretion, but at least it has the word "partner" in it for a little hint of what they truly are.

"So," Jamie claps her hands together, "you looking for anything in particular, Kate?"

"Just something nice and kind of, um, elegantly understated, I guess. For a friend."

"Right," Jamie nods. "We can definitely do that."

This has been one of her biggest changes since she's really started sharing her life with Dani, this empathy thing. There are still some times when she can't stand other people, when she needs to just be among plants that can't bloody talk, but generally, she's gotten much, much better at opening up with customers. Especially when she's got Dani by her side, asking just the right questions to get a better sense of what the customer wants without overstepping boundaries.

Kate's buying flowers for her friend Max, a friend from school, and the way she consistently refers to this person as "they" gets Jamie thinking.

"So," Dani asks, once they've created an arrangement for her, "this is for Max, right?" She picks up the pen to sign the name to the notecard with her smooth cursive.

"Mmhmm." Kate makes a tiny reach for the pen. "Um, would you mind if I…?"

Dani passes the notecard and the pen over to her with a smile. "By all means, go right ahead."

Jamie's not _trying_ to be a creep, but she can't help but notice that Kate's crammed a small novel onto the card in tight handwriting. Or that the floral arrangement reminds her of something she'd assemble for Dani as part of an anniversary dinner.

So she comments, as innocently as possible, "This Max must mean a lot to you, if you're doing all this for them. You've helped us select a beautiful bunch of flowers."

"Yeah, she—" the woman blushes, backtracks, clams up.

"We understand," Dani reassures her with the quiet, open kindness and gentle confidence that makes her so incredibly easy to love, and with that prompting, Kate finishes her answer after letting go of a relieved breath. "She is special. She's really something."

"That'll be $22.30, please," Dani answers, as if that part of her life doesn't need to be remarkable, doesn't need to be remarked upon.

As they link pinkies, Jamie lets some of her wife's benevolence wash over her.

"Know what, Kate, we can knock a few bucks off. Let's call it nineteen."

Her eyebrows jump toward her hairline. "Are—are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. Perks o' running our own shop, we get to set prices." She turns and shoots an easy grin at Dani, who's beaming at her, then looks back at Kate. "Besides, it's Christmas time, innit? No Scrooges here."

"Thank you," Kate breathes. "For…"

Dani and Jamie nod together. It sucks, sometimes, Jamie thinks, that they have to adhere to these codes, to _not saying_ in order to speak, to acknowledge these shared experiences, but there's an intimacy to the rituals that she still appreciates, even all these years after coming out.

"You're welcome," Jamie and Dani automatically chorus as they hand Kate her bouquet.

She nods warmly and calls brightly, "Thanks again!" as she exits the shop.

"Hey, Jamie?" Dani asks softly once Kate's left.

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking, for Christmas this year…" Dani's eyes pop like illuminating flashbulbs, like string lights reflecting off of ornaments, and she'll never tire of getting lost in them. "Could we do it properly? Get a tree, a real one, and decorate, and make cookies?" she asks hopefully.

"That's still three weeks away," Jamie realizes aloud.

It's the furthest out they've talked of anything...well, ever, really. And it hits her, just what it means, that Dani's asked about a date in the extended future.

"I know," Dani murmurs, a slightly cheesy grin coming over her face as the penny drops for Jamie. "But we can think about things that are weeks away sometimes, now, can't we?" she goes on shyly. "Since…"

She trails off a touch, like she's lost the thread of her point, but Jamie thinks she's found it.

"Since we're each other's. In all ways. Always."

It's the first time since that night that either of them has revisited that line, and Jamie's hopeless to do anything but pull Dani close when she confirms, with a nod and a kiss, "We're each other's. In all ways. Always."

Their "always" is a curse reversed now, a sad impossibility transformed into a fulfilling destiny, and they have no need to want for anything more.


End file.
